


The foley of Spring

by tsundanire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, F/M, Is tree impregnating a thing?, Other, Tree Sex, Tree hugging of a whole different nature, What Have I Done, i blame discord, intriguing uses for sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 10:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21444916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundanire/pseuds/tsundanire
Summary: Firenze follows his herd as they head into mating season, but something rather unconventional awaits him.
Relationships: Firenze/Whomping Willow
Comments: 16
Kudos: 53





	The foley of Spring

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the incredible @keyflight790 for the beta-work on this insanity. I also blame like, a million people for this. I'm not sorry.

The herd trampled through the forest, moonlight highlighting their path. Firenze typically avoided herd activities, preferring to remain alone or apart from the horsemen he called family. 

But the season of Spring was upon them once more. The season of frivolity and frolic, of the males battling each other in feats of strength, showing off their skills in front of the prancing females… 

The entire thing filled Firenze with disgust. They were beings of high intelligence, regardless of what the human ministry would dub them. They were filled with knowledge that others could only dream of. And yet, once a year they debased themselves like young stallions seeking a hole to pleasure themselves with. The whole thing was disgraceful, and yet, when the moon hit its peak in the sky on the eve of the Spring Harvest, none of them seemed capable of stopping themselves. 

The mares were particularly graceful and lovely this year. Some sat at the river bank, brushing out their hair, plating each other’s tails with flowers, bathing even… They called to the galloping herd with their siren songs, pulling the males in with their lustful glances. 

Firenze shook out his mane as his hooves dug into the dirt, eyeing the herd as they pared off. As much as he despised the rituals, Firenze couldn’t help but feel the need race through him. His body was on fire, eager and ready for mating, but without an eye for anyone of his herd. Their voices sang together in harmonies that he barely understood. None of them were right for him. He’d always been different, so why would the Spring Harvest be any different?

And then he heard it. A song carried on the breeze in the distance. Firenze frowned, shifting his footing back towards the direction they had come. 

His ears perked up again as the flow of melody beckoned him. How odd. He’d never felt the pull like this before. Perhaps it had been too long since he’d released? Or was he being driven mad by the lust pouring off the others in his herd?

“Where are you?” Firenze called out, pushing into a canter. He followed the song as it led him closer to the edge of the forest. Which of the females had wandered off so far? Why was she so close to the humans from the school? 

Another push of his legs sent his body into a full gallop, the flair of his thick cockhead already starting to peak from the shaft. Her song filled him with heat, made him want desperately. 

He could see the forest’s edge ahead, which filled him with deep concern. He had to bring her back to the safety of the forest. Out there, humans could catch them, could bind them with spells, and force them to do their bidding. But as he launched his large frame past the tree line, Firenze saw no one. No students milling about, no Hagrid tending the grounds… Only the castle in the distance and that odd tree that often flailed about. 

The song came to him again, but from the direction of the tree. How odd. 

The closer he got, the more odd it became. There was no female there, and he was practically atop the tree. 

“Who calls for me?” He groaned, feeling as if he’d been slighted. 

“_I do_~” Came a voice as soft and sweet as honey and bells. Firenze looked up and saw a figure in the trees. She was there but also not, a figure of smoke and light. 

“What magic is this?” Firenze pounded his front hoof into the dirt. He was irritated and overwhelmed by his own need—which was fully hard and throbbing at this point—desperate to lose himself inside somewhere warm and wet. 

“_Silly man. This isn’t magic. I am a sprite. I live within the tree they call “Whomping”. She is me and I am her._” The sprite floated down from her place in the branches, the swinging arms flying all around him but never touching him. 

“What is it you wish then, Sprite?” His voice was gruff, his legs kicking and pacing in frustration. He _needed_ to mount. 

The sprite giggled and waved her hand, allowing Firenze to get closer. As he did, he saw a portion of the trunk that was shaped much like the sprite. As if several versions of her were melded into its bark. One part in particular was shaped into the roots, moulded perfectly as if the sprite was bent over at the waist. 

“_Look closer, Centaur. See what I’ve got for you._” Her voice twinkled like a thousand stars.

Firenze did as he was bid, looking over the lump growing within the tree. To his surprise there was a hole that almost mimicked what he knew of female caverns. His mouth filled with saliva, his cock dripping at the tip. It would be so simple. 

“_That’s right, Firenze. You know what you need to do…_” The sprite sang into his ear.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, Firenze grasped the two closest branches that protruded near the hole, reared back and mounted, thrusting his equine cock deep within the tree. He grunted loudly, as he felt the tree hole almost suction him in. It was warm, strangely warm… Were all trees warm like this at their core? And sticky… The sap. That had to be the tree sap. 

The knowledge of how the tree felt internally made him whinny with excitement. His hips bucked forward excitedly, unable to stay still for even a second, and the flair of his tip was teased by the bumpy texture within the tree. 

Of all the ways he’d expected this day to go, mounted over the lump of a tree, sinking his massive flared cock deep within the sticky, sappy hole of the Whomping Willow, was _not_ one of them. The cooing moans of the sprite spurred him on faster, as if she could feel everything he was doing to the tree. His hands grappled for purchase on the bark, while his front legs locked around the protruding branches, almost pulling him deeper into the squelching hole. All the sounds now filling the air were so lewd, so arousing that Firenze’s whinny’s also grew louder, mixing with his heavy grunts, and the sprite’s growing moans.

Her sap completely covered him now, around the tip, dripping down his bollocks to the ground. His need to mate was nearly satisfied, but first he had to spill within her, marking her as his. The call of the Whomping Willow was more seductive to him than any female of his kind. She was perfectly shaped for him, and so completely wet for him. Though his mind was clouded, he knew that he would ensure he was the only one filling her like this, pleasuring her like this, and with a loud cry, he felt his hips bucking forward as he came. The flow was so forceful that as he pulled back, more jets of come continued to splash against her rough bark. The hole was over-filled with spunk and sap, dripping out all sides and down the base of the tree. 

His breathing slowed, but Firenze wanted more. He wanted to fuck her again, already. Too long he’d forced himself to a life without pleasure, to focus on the stars and their signs, but one taste of the Whomping Willow’s roots had him crazed like a mare in heat. 

Unfortunately, a bell sounded within the castle, signaling the end of classes. Firenze snorted angrily, ready to fight anyone who came near him and his tree. 

“_Go, my Centaur. It’s not safe for you to be here now. But come back to me tonight. Fill me up again, my stallion, for I am thirsty and you quench my needs._” The sprite’s sing-song voice danced around him. She was right; he would be back that night. He would be back every night, and damned would be the Centaur or student who would try to stop him. 


End file.
